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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24118045">Pull Me Out the Water (Cold and Blue)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/skelegro/pseuds/skelegro'>skelegro</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dialogue Heavy, Dumbledore is dead, F/F, Love Confessions, Mourning, New Relationship, minnie and poppy are lesbians fight me, reflections on death, set at the end of half-blood prince, strong women ftw</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:07:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,536</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24118045</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/skelegro/pseuds/skelegro</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Albus is dead. Poppy is devastated. Minerva is love-struck.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Minerva McGonagall/Poppy Pomfrey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Pull Me Out the Water (Cold and Blue)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nobody had seen her leave. It was better that way, Minerva surmised, for she had escaped the staffroom swiftly, and left behind the drunken, hysterical hugs that her colleagues were prone to whenever one departed. It wasn’t the kind of sombre night that Minerva would prefer, not with such a steady flow of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky passing lips, but with his distinctive twinkling gaze, Minerva wasn’t sure that Albus would ever condone a public display of quiet, dismal mourning. Were she not in feline form, she would likely weep at the thought of him; it did not matter what Albus Dumbledore thought or felt, for, in death, he had little way of communicating the results of such functions — if they existed at all.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her journey took her past various paintings, with figures still scurrying to and fro to share the very latest developments. As with her staff —</span>
  <span class="s1"> she balked briefly at presiding over those she had just left for more than mere weeks — the paintings were rowdy, with only a smattering of reflection. Minerva thought back to the contemplative Septima, who had less taken Rolanda’s offering of booze than had it shoved down her throat. Still, she couldn’t blame them; it was an odd night. Though usually advanced in this state by a sixth sense, a superior directional aptitude, Minerva was bemused to find that her usual homing instinct had abandoned her in her grief. Or, as was the way with magical matters, it was redirecting her elsewhere with good reason. Remaining simultaneously numb and distraught, perhaps confused by her exhaustion, or by an otherwise unnoticed blow during the earlier battle, she could not summon any effort to delve into her subconscious’ plans.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her padded paws crept further away from home, in the direction of a very different tower, and she must have been a good ten or so yards away from the spiral staircase up to the Ravenclaw common room when she smelt it: the obtrusive scent of fresh blood, down a neighbouring corridor. It was only when her tongue darted from her mouth that she realised she was hungry now, hit by sorrow and alcohol and uncertainty, and the cat outside her descended, slinking close to the ground in search of the gore. It was further than she expected to find the source, and the noise hit her before she spotted anything. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At first, she heard only a gulp, followed by a few ragged breaths. This pattern multiplied, becoming faster, part of the owner’s desperate attempts to calm their laboured breathing. The sob that erupted eventually was more acute, pained and painful, and dredged up more wails in its wake. More curious than perturbed, Minerva continued to sidle slowly to the source. Her hearing wasn’t much changed from its human condition, and she could discern that the sounds were female, but the alarming thing — the thing keeping her from changing to herself and ushering the individual back to their bed — was that the noises lacked the expected vitality of youth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Molly Weasley? But no, not here, not with Bill recovering below.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nymphadora Tonks? Unlikely, given that she would lack solace in the sky, but not improbable. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Irma? She had left the staff gathering early, but would be more comfortable amongst her books, no doubt.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There was nothing for it. Keeping close to the wall, Minerva skulked onwards until a crouched figure finally came into view, illuminated partially by the moonlight as it seeped in through the lattice window opposite. At this proximity, with these eyes, Minerva couldn’t quite work out who exactly was wrapped in a heavy dressing gown just a few feet away from her. Thankfully, she didn’t wait long for the woman to raise her head, allowing her lined, tear-stained face to be bathed in white light.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Minerva should have checked. For all her harsh bravado, her dear colleague never did manage personal grief well. Regretfully, Minerva couldn’t feign ignorance; only hours ago had she registered red eyes, a wet face, two shuddering hands. Understandably, she’d expected her to be busy for a while, tiring herself until sleep could finally, when a few precious hours of peace were presented, engulf her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She really should have checked.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Min?” rasped a tentative voice, lilting in query. The cat gave no indication of hearing anything for a moment, taking precious time to mentally berate her own callousness, and then she was there: ashen skin and black robes, not four legs and appurtenant fur. “Oh, Minerva... </span> <span class="s3"> <em>Albus</em> </span> <span class="s1">...”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Red flooded her senses. Poppy. It could only ever have been Poppy. She was all red and white, wan, wearing her cap, with a starchy white apron peeking out from beneath her crimson robe and collar. That explained the scent — she hadn’t changed yet, and had failed to at least </span> <span class="s3"> <em>Tergeo</em> </span> <span class="s1"> her uniform before abandoning her patients. Merlin, she reeked: filthy, dark blood, with an undercurrent of sweat.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, thanks,” choked Poppy, but she managed to laugh. Minerva thought she’d never heard such a beautiful sound succeeding unbridled anguish. It made her slip worth it; she occasionally forgot that her human self had to keep a greater check on mental notes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I hate to ask, but —“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“M-Molly offered to give me an hour or so,” said Poppy quickly. “She’s a g-good girl. I trust her.” A girl no longer, thought Minerva, trying to rapidly recall the many Weasley children in order of birth. She gave up quickly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You didn’t think to find me?” asked the older of the two, thinking back to her failure to actually invite Poppy to the impromptu staff gathering still very much at large. It was a deplorable oversight, in her opinion, hardly excused by their recent loss. “Pomona, even? Rolanda?” Three shakes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“... I c-can’t stand it, Min...” muttered the Healer, curling in on herself with every word. She’d always been close to Albus in a way Minerva wasn’t. It wasn’t closer, or even as close, she suspected, for Poppy had never formally joined the Order despite knowing of its existence — she was their trusted medic, after all. But the two had frequent meetings to discuss the hospital wing, and largely behaved as if they were more friends than colleagues, something Poppy never denied nor explained. As with most members of staff, Minerva had experienced that very same ease often, but she was struck by the thought of Albus and Poppy, the latter with her ‘womanly’ shape, and softer face, and piercing blue eyes. There was always one-sided fury in their relationship too, and that was likewise entirely relatable, but Poppy could hold her grudges with Albus like no other. Except, perhaps, in light of recent events, Severus.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did you... love...?” asked Minerva, quirking a brow. Her sudden and hesitant assumption, so filled with dread, was hastily corrected, for Poppy guffawed at the very thought.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“No! Merlin, </span> <span class="s3"> <em>no</em> </span> <span class="s1">, not like that...” chuckled Poppy, but her eyes were still leaking. “Very much </span> <span class="s3"> <em>not</em> </span> <span class="s1"> my type.” Distracted from despair by the question, she untied her gown and began to silently clean the blood on her pinny.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Poor Bill,” uttered Minerva absentmindedly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mhm,” agreed Poppy, though her heart didn’t seem quite in it. “You should have heard Potter. Despite my being someone so utterly incapable in the past couple of years, he had an awful lot of faith in me to fix the poor boy up.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Whisht! You haven’t been incapable, Poppy. You stabilised me, you helped S— with Katie, you’ve patched up more than one Weasley.” But even as she spoke she could see a pattern, and she suddenly understood why and when the matron had started to look so old. Poppy said nothing at first, merely waving her hand instead, and Minerva was reminded of the blackened one Albus had been shrugging off for the past year.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“I couldn’t—</span><span class="s1">” started Poppy, but then the tears returned in earnest and Minerva was forced to join the floor to cradle the witch in her arms, supporting her as she sailed back through a storm of delirium. “He wouldn’t let me... avoided... t-trusted </span> <span class="s3"><em><b>Severus</b></em>... </span> <span class="s1">fool... the children... another war... </span> <em> <span class="s3">I can’t do it</span> </em> <span class="s1">...”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“...The war started a while ago, Poppy.” The professor’s hand hovered over the other woman’s head. Quietly, with neither permission nor protest, she began to methodically remove the enchanted pins setting the cap in place, eager to feel grey hair and the whispers of hot skin beneath her finger tips. “I’m frightened too. For the children.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Minerva felt an agreeing nod against her chest, but the Healer was also slipping down, away from Minerva’s shoulder to her chest. She settled there, blubbing over fine robes, and it reminded both witches so keenly of a certain experience with Dolores Umbridge the year before. Absentmindedly, without a chance of an apology, Poppy lifted her hand to trace a shape near Minerva’s shoulder, where she knew an angry red scar was still lurking on pallid skin.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m frightened for us.” Minerva had to strain her ears, and paused to digest the words. It wasn’t like Poppy to mumble, but she was pressing her face tight against a more than willing form. “Will you run? When he comes, will you flee?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She blinked rapidly. This Poppy seemed so incongruous with the no-nonsense, often obstinate woman she loved so deeply. “No. Why? Will you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Poppy answered firmly, some of her passionate resolve slipping back into her voice. “But I’m not Minerva McGonagall, am I? For all they know, I might switch sides.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Will you?” Minerva winced audibly, hearing the question before she could even register her mind whirring with thought. Although it was a completely preposterous concept, an insult to their friendship, a threat to the painstakingly constructed trust between them, a threat to </span> <span class="s3"> <em>more</em></span><span class="s1">, she did not retract the two little words. She knew they were a mistake, for Poppy stiffened and sniffed rather haughtily, as if betrayed.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You find me crying for Albus, yet—</span>
  <span class="s1">”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry, sorry, I know. I slipped.” She clutched her closer, lest she escape, but Poppy slackened gratefully once more.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“...I mean to say that I was less important, only a cameo in Albus’ grand plan,” explained the witch uncertainly, her nose twitching against Minerva’s bosom in the way it often did when she was troubling her mind for answers. “I designed it that way, best to </span><span class="s3">be</span> <span class="s3">in</span><span class="s1"> the know without </span><span class="s3"><em>being</em></span><span class="s1"> the know. Just in case.” Minerva saw the benefits. A couple of other well-informed staff members had agreed with Albus not to partake in formal Order activities, keen to retain as much distance as possible. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“You were very important,” argued Minerva eventually, quiet but emphatic. It wasn’t necessarily true, not in the context of their conversation, but it mattered to her. “You’ll </span> <span class="s3"> <em>always</em> </span> <span class="s1"> be very important.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The weight on her chest lifted. Blue met blue. Poppy certainly disagreed, that much was plain from one perfectly arched brow, but there was worryingly little fight left; her once steadfast armour was chinked, exposing her reality: pale skin and puffy eyes and reddened lips. Minerva’s stare lingered helplessly on the latter.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know what I’m trying to say, don’t you?” asked Poppy.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">She didn’t. It was perhaps the first time in their friendship that Minerva had been entirely unable to figuratively delve into Poppy’s mind. She</span> <span class="s1">felt</span> <span class="s1">a pang of optimism in her heart for a welcome foreign feeling, but her gut gurgled its uncertainty and her mind began to methodically reason away her faith. She stole another glance downward.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t,” replied Minerva, after a silence worthy of a post-apocalyptic land; Poppy hadn’t deigned to rescue her from uncertainty.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m frightened for us,” she repeated, firmer than before, and acceptance was roused from its deep slumber. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3"> <em>Us.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">It was all suddenly clear to Minerva: Poppy was explaining that she thought of herself as comparatively impervious to harm, and thus her fear was blooming from buds of stolen possibilities. They </span> <span class="s3">could</span> <span class="s1"> be one entity, but a noose around either’s neck would destroy that unity. She was afraid, in short, of losing her chance — or so Minerva dearly hoped.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“...Well, </span> <span class="s3">I’m</span> <span class="s1"> never frightened for <em>you</em>; you’re quite imperishable,” said Minerva. She grimaced fleetingly in the wake of her words, recalling the time when Poppy was transformed from flesh and bone to cold stone by a blasted curse. Though horrific enough then, glazing the memory with new love made it impossible to bear. “And you shouldn’t worry about me. So long as you are safe and we are together, I have absolute faith in my own security. Perchance that’s why I’m so ‘infuriatingly reckless’.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I didn’t mean—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You did, you did,” insisted Minerva. It was the first thing Poppy had said to her when she’d been roused from her coma the year before; Minerva wasn’t alone at the time in believing that she would soon be sent back under at the hysterical woman’s own hands. “And you were correct.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m glad you finally agree,” huffed Poppy. She began to wet her lips tentatively, lacking self-assurance, and though Minerva thought that a kiss would be somewhat inappropriate, even ineffective, she could momentarily think of nothing else. Another side effect of grief, no doubt.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I always agreed, if not aloud. And now I must exercise caution more than ever.” Poppy’s visible pleasure mingled with nerves; Minerva understood the feeling, for her acquiescence meant that danger really was afoot. “What do you need me to do, my dear?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t die.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t plan on it,” she laughed almost bitterly. A voice reminded her that Albus didn’t plan on it either.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Really, Minerva. Don’t die on me.” She stopped laughing. Poppy looked ready to weep once more. “Refuse the headship, and refuse it </span> <span class="s3"> <em>loudly</em></span><span class="s1">. Don’t talk to other members of the Order if you can help it; don’t discuss the current climate with Ministry officials; don’t write a eulogy for Albus when someone inevitably asks.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Go blind, you mean?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Go blind </span> <span class="s3"> <em>with me</em></span><span class="s1">,” emphasised Poppy, taking some more colour to her cheeks now. “What’s coming will come, but it won’t end in a day. Don’t get yourself killed before we–”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I love you,” Minerva cut in abruptly, though the unexpected confession had the effect of shocking her into silence. The matron was, to her great surprise, hardly fazed, returning with vigour to the woman Minerva always admired.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good,” replied Poppy, quirking her lips into a subtle smirk. “I love you too. But just because that’s out in the open now, that doesn’t mean you can get yourself killed. When this is over—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why wait?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Darling, do you ever plan on letting me finish? I’m not one of your students, you know,” </span> <em> <span class="s3">and not nearly as tolerant</span> </em> <span class="s1">, she didn’t add. Minerva remained appropriately quiet. “Good. When this is over, because it </span> <span class="s3">will</span> <span class="s1"> be over one day, and we’re much older and much greyer, I hope we will spend your last days together at the cottage, on the beach.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“...</span> <span class="s3"> <em>My</em> </span> <span class="s1"> last days? And I’ll be dying first, will I?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well,” giggled Poppy, before pausing to laugh. It was the most gratifying sound in the world; she sounded young, and Minerva felt that youth settling in her bones. “I think you said it yourself, Min: I’m quite imperishable.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And long may it be so...”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Title: ‘Swimming‘ by Florence and the Machine</p><p>Disclaimer: I do not own the world of Harry Potter, which belongs to JK Rowling.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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